


Bringing Out the Dead

by MidnightStorm6593



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6957997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightStorm6593/pseuds/MidnightStorm6593
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're gonna stay out of this. I'll deal with it."</p><p>She gives him a thin, wry smile.</p><p>"Sorry, but I don't take orders from dead people."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bringing Out the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Jagged Puzzle Pieces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471715) by [MidnightStorm6593](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightStorm6593/pseuds/MidnightStorm6593). 



> So I kinda took one of my one-shots from 'Jagged Puzzle Pieces' (it's the second one-shot in it), did some editing, and added a bit more because I realized that it was something that I could definitely turn into a longer, more interesting story.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Thanks to [abbyli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/abbyli/pseuds/abbyli) for creating a polyvore: [[karen](http://www.polyvore.com/karen_bringing_out_dead_chap/set?id=199123996)] (you're the best, bby!)

.

.

The collapse of _Nelson and Murdock_ doesn’t signify the end of the world. Karen can’t help but find that a little funny because, in the past, it always felt like it would.

She still goes out for drinks with Foggy every once in a while. Instead of Josie’s, though, they meet at some upscale bar that is more befitting of Foggy’s new position. It’s nice, but it’s not the same. Matt never comes with, either.

She hasn’t seen Matt since that day in the old office where he confessed to being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

At the time, she had felt the cold shock of surprise. But once she actually processed it all, she felt like an idiot. In retrospect, all the signs were there…she just never bothered to put the pieces together.

Now, she wonders if he’s just avoiding her.

It’s easy to feel hurt and a little betrayed. Foggy had known about it (although, apparently not because Matt had decided to come clean to him…). But, really, Matt didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth until now? Even after she had defended his alter ego when everyone thought he was some crazy, cop-killing, terrorist bomber?

It’s irrational of her, though… _hypocritical,_ even. She knows it is. There’s plenty of things that she keeps from everyone else, things she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to admit out loud. She knows how different everyone would look at her if she did.

Instead, she buries her own secrets by digging up everyone else’s and printing them in _The New York Bulletin._ She’s pretty good at it, too, if she does say so herself. Ben would have been proud of her.

It comes with its own set of consequences, though. Anonymous death threats come via phone, test, email, and even snail mail.

She carries her .380 with her at all times. She finds free self-defense classes at police stations and rec enters. YouTube turns out to be a great resource as well. It teaches her how to escape handcuffs and zip ties. Maybe she’s not as equipped to protect herself as someone like Matt and Frank are, but she’s smart and she’s learning the skills.

Originally, she had assumed that Frank had skipped town, decided to deliver his own special brand of justice elsewhere. But he hadn’t.

She knows this because with every crime faction she exposes, the perpetrators meet a gruesome death…unless Matt manages to deliver them to jail first, that is.

Conspiracy theorists determine that Frank Castle must really be alive after all. The rest of the general population assumes that there must be a copycat.

Before long, she begins to notice that Frank watches over her whenever she works a late night at _the Bulletin._

If it were anyone else, Karen would think he’s getting sloppy. But it’s Frank Castle. And if Frank Castle didn’t want her to know he’s there, then she wouldn’t.

She thinks about calling out to him a million times, but she doesn’t. The words always seem to clog in her throat, choking her before she can get them out. Besides, where would she even start? What would she even say? There was so much…yet, at the same time there’s nothing.

One night, she actually manages to work up the courage. She’d given herself a migraine while pouring over notes and trying to put together the pieces of what looked to be a very, _very_ complicated puzzle. Getting up to pour herself her third cup of coffee, she finds herself reaching for another mug and filling it up before she even really thinks about it.

“You might as well come and take a break from creeping around and all that,” she calls out.

She sets the extra mug down on one side of the desk before walking around and settling in her chair so she can begin going over her notes again.

“Thought I was dead to you,” he replies gruffly. She doesn’t look up as he takes a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk.

“Dead people seem to have a way of coming back to haunt you in this city,” Karen replies.

Internally, she winces and wonders if maybe that’s something that shouldn’t have been said out loud.

Frank Castle is a man who is haunted every day by his dead wife and his dead children. It’s what drove all of his actions.

Still, though, it’s the truth.

And…perhaps that’s what _really_ haunted her; Her constant, persistent need to know the truth, no matter the peril that has a tendency to accompany it.

Finally looking up at him, she sees that he’s watching her intently. The glow of the Christmas lights she has yet to take down illuminate him softly and hints at a bruise or two on his face. The white skull painted on his bulletproof vest sticks out starkly.

“I read your articles,” he tells her.

“Yeah, I figured that when I found out what’s happened to some of the people I’ve exposed,” Karen replies shortly.

“You’re putting yourself in danger.”

“I know.”

“Do you.”

She sets her mug down on her desk and looks him dead in the eye as she begins to speak.

“The man this office used to belong to was strangled by Fisk for helping me to expose him. I woke up in an apartment next to my dead coworker, covered in his blood, for trying to expose Union Allie. Then, they had a cop try to strangle me in my cell and make it look like a suicide. The next night they sent some thug who bashed my head into the wall of my apartment. I almost got the shit beaten out of me by two of Fisk’s goons because I was trying to stop him from bulldozing an elderly woman’s apartment. And that woman? He had some druggie stab her to death. Then, there’s the ninjas who kidnapped me and a bunch of others to lure Matt out…and don’t even get me started on the laundry lists of things that happened when I tried to help _you.”_

Her words aren’t angry or venomous. Her tone is calm and even. Factual.

“I’ve accepted that the life I’ve chosen to lead, the actions I’ve chosen to take are the farthest thing from safe,” she finished, picking her coffee mug back up and slowly sipping at the bitter liquid.

He breaks his eye contact with her to stand up and head towards the back counter for a coffee refill.

“Your article—the one about heroes,” he begins, his head bent low as he filled his mug up.

The rest of his words are lost on her, however, because all she sees is a flash of red. Acting on pure instinct, she’s up out of her chair and barreling into Frank with all her speed and all her might. They hit the floor with a heavy thud.

The bullets hit her coffee maker, causing a spray of glass, coffee, and sparks above them.

Karen looks down at Frank wide-eyed. They’re practically nose-to-nose.

Hell would freeze over before he’d ever actually admit it, but that had been a sloppy moment. He’d allowed himself to get distracted.

Kicking into action, he quickly lifts Karen off of him and sets her on the ground beside him before getting up.

“Get under the desk and stay there till I come back,” he directs her, already halfway out the door.

“Like hell,” she mutters, scrambling up off the floor.

She pauses just long enough to grab her .380 out of her bag. She knows Frank has more than enough firepower, but she needs small comforts of her own. As she races to catch up with him, Karen can’t help but feel slight grateful at how adept she’s become at running in high heels

It doesn’t take her long to find Frank again. All she has to do is follow the sound of fist meeting flesh and the muffled cry of pain that follows.

“Look, it was her I was after! My boss told me to take her out,” the man cried frantically, his voice half-garbled by the blood filling his mouth thanks to the teeth Frank had knocked out. “I didn’t want there to be any witnesses, but I didn’t know it was _you._ Aren’t you supposed to be dead or something?!”

“Or something.” Frank hits him again, this time breaking his nose. A _crunch_ echoes throughout the alleyway.

“Who’s your boss?” Frank demands.

“I can’t—I can’t…he’ll kill me!”

Frank grabs him by the collar, slamming him into the brick wall _hard._

“You’re gonna die either way, you piece of shit,” he assures the would-be-assassin. “It’s just a matter of how painful you want it to be.”

The man blubbers a bit, shaking his head. Frank pulls out a gun from his waistband and shoots him in the leg. Karen can’t help but flinch as blood sprays from the new wound. The already bruised and bloodied man falls to the ground with an agonized yell.

“It was the Italians, wasn’t it?” Karen asks, finally speaking up and stepping forward. She may not approve of Frank’s methods, but perhaps she can get answers to help her put some puzzle pieces together. “Moretti? Lombardo? Or maybe Russo? I know one of them is the kingpin, but I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on _which_ one yet.”

The man, still groaning in pain, only shakes his head.

Frank pushes him against the wall again. This time, he jabs a thumb into the bullet hole in the man’s thigh and digs around a bit. The man yells out again and Karen almost looks away. She doesn’t, though. She forces herself to meet this head on.

“Moretti!” The man garbles out. “It was Moretti.” 

Apparently that’s all Frank needs to hear because he wastes no time in bringing the gun up to the man’s head and pulls the trigger.

A small sound escapes her and she takes a couple steps back.

“He could have been a great lead,” is all Karen manages to say. The words sound stupid even to her.

Frank looks at her incredulously. “Yeah, because he was obviously in such a helpful, talkative mood.”

Not knowing what else to say, she turns away and pinches her nose in frustration.

“What exactly have you gotten yourself into this time?”

She’s silent for a few moments, but finally lets out a sigh and turns to him. “I’ll show you,” she replies, gesturing in the general direction of _the Bulletin._

They walk back to the newspaper office in silence. Once again, Karen doesn’t know what to say. She still doesn’t approve out of his methods and he won’t be talked out of it. There’s no point in sounding like a broken record.

“Wash your hands,” she directs him. She doesn’t want blood all over her notes. 

“What’s this?” he asks, once his hands are clean and she’s given him her folder full of notes.

“A few weeks ago, I received an anonymous tip about people going missing in or around Metro General Hospital,” Karen explains.

“People going missing _in_ a hospital? The cops would be all over that.”

“Only they’re _not._ Personally, I think someone has been tampering with and forging hospital records. Could be somebody who’s working on the inside or could be that some big wig thinks that alerting others about missing persons would be bad for business,” Karen theorizes, sitting down heavily. “What’s more is that these people who are going missing don’t have anyone. No family, no friends. No one cares that they’re suddenly gone.”

“Where do the Italians come in?”

“They’ve been running the area lately. Originally, I had just _assumed_ that they were involved…obviously, I was just proven right.”

“And you think your source is reliable?”

“Considering they’re anonymous, refused to give me a name or a number to reach them, or to meet with me, no, I didn’t.” She drums her fingers absentmindedly on the armrest of her chair. “Once I got names of those who are missing, I decided to do some digging. Since they had no friends or family, I mostly spoke with landlords. These people don’t live in the most glamorous part of town, so the landlords don’t care if their tenants suddenly go missing. They assumed that they skipped town and stiffed them on the rent—and here’s what really gets me—their apartments have been completely wiped clean.”

“Wiped clean?” Frank repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Everything, all of their belongings are gone as if they just packed up and left in the middle of the night. Not a single trace left behind.”

“And nobody saw anyone emptying the apartment?”

“I had to bribe the landlords just for the little piece of information I got. The other tenants aren’t talking, bribe or no. They’re scared.”

Pause.

“I think that maybe it’s a human trafficking scheme,” Karen adds.

“If it is, why would they take people from a hospital? Wouldn’t they want someone healthy?”

“I don’t know…maybe it isn’t human trafficking. It’s just the first thing that comes to mind. Either way, they’re definitely doing _something_ with these people,” Karen replies. “And one way or another, I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

“No, you’re not,” Frank replies gruffly, shutting the folder she has compiled. “You’re gonna stay out of this. I’ll deal with it.”

She gives him a thin, wry smile and reaches over, plucking the folder from his fingers.

“Sorry, but I don’t take orders from dead people.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to get a new chapter out relatively soon, but I've been horribly sick for a few weeks now, so when I sit down to write it's always fifty-fifty as to whether I can actually think straight or now.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading and any comments, kudos, etc. are greatly appreciated!


End file.
